


Bunker

by Amymel86



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Chickens, Do you know?, F/M, Jon and Sansa are not related and don't know each other, Jonsa Spring Challenge, Modern AU, Ramsey is his own warning, ambiguous - Freeform, apocalypse au, coz I don't, he's stupidly prepared, is the world ending outside the bunker?, mance is a survivalist, ridiculously prepared, surviving in a bunker
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-02
Updated: 2018-04-17
Packaged: 2019-04-17 14:11:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 11,971
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14190708
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Amymel86/pseuds/Amymel86
Summary: Something terrifying is happening above their heads. Sansa doesn't know what's going on, and neither do any of the people she's stuck in here with. Truth-be-told, she's lucky really - to be in the right place at the right time to be whisked down into this ridiculously prepared underground bunker - she has food, water and shelter.All she's got to do is sit tight, pitch in and help, and live with three men that she'd never met prior to the world coming to an end.





	1. Day 1

**Author's Note:**

> Day 3 of the Jonsa Spring Challenge - Starting Anew

The slam of her car door still echoed in Sansa’s ears even after almost two hours of driving. She gripped the steering wheel, still feeling the tension from her argument with her father ringing through her body. Chewing on her bottom lip as she flipped the radio station over, the long empty country road she found herself on was straight and lined with tall pine trees, their branches knitting together to create a thick dark forest. Sansa replayed the stupid argument over again in her head and slowly, tentatively allowed herself the realisation that she may have over-reacted, her dad was only looking out for her – even if he was doing it in the most infuriating way.

She was 24 for God-sake! _And, ok,_ so she was back to living with her parents after a bad break up with that knob Joff, but this _‘thing’_ that she was starting with Harry was just what she needed at the moment. It wasn’t exactly a ‘no-strings’ attached kind of deal because Sansa’s not sure she could do that but equally she wasn’t ready just yet to move in with the guy or start practicing her signature using his last name. The point was, Harry is fun, Harry is always the life and soul of the party… _and, yeah,_ alright, she’ll admit that perhaps sometimes he parties a little _too hard_ for her liking, but he’s young, she’s young… Sansa didn’t see the problem. Ned Stark did though.

_"He’s meant to be serving his country! Not drowning himself in liquor and trying his damnedest to ruin my daughter!”_

Sansa rolled her eyes yet again at the memory of her dad’s words. She’ll admit that Harry Hardyng has a _reputation_ , but in the close-knit community surrounding Winterfell Army Base, gossip gets around fast and is often something akin to that childish game, Chinese Whispers. Harry told her that the rumour that followed him with his transfer from The Eyrie Base wasn’t true. He had not gotten two women pregnant and left them high and dry. The stories was completely false and were just the product of people with nothing better to do but fabricate gossip.

Sansa’s not sure exactly where this _thing_ with Harry is going anyway – and she certainly never pictured herself settling down with a squaddie, becoming an Army wife like her mother. Sansa wrinkled her nose and thought of how, even now, after her father’s retirement from the forces, he can’t completely leave that world behind. After Ned Stark served his country, he refused to move too far from his beloved base and settled in an area of town affectionately known as ‘Heroes Village’ where a lot of ex-servicemen now resided. He even still volunteers with supervising recruits.

 _No_ – good-time-Harry is fun to be around for now, but even as she snapped back at Ned’s warnings, Sansa knew he wasn’t her future. It’s just that it’s so infuriating to be _told_ – especially if it’s something you already _know_ deep down.

_“I want you with someone who’ll look after you!”_

_Sansa’s hands curled into fists at her sides, “I don’t need looking after!” she snapped._

_“I know you don’t, love. That’s not what I mean. I want you to find someone…. Someone brave… and gentle… strong too. A proper man, not this little sh-“_

_“Oh and where am I finding this mythical ‘proper man’, dad?” she snorted, “Harry makes me laugh. Harry takes me out places and treats me well enough.”_

_“Harry’s an ass. He’ll hurt you. I know it,” Ned shook his head._

_Sansa groaned in frustration and cradled her face in her hands._

_“Where are you going?” Ned demanded after she’d stood, swiftly swiping her car keys off the hook._

_“Anywhere but here. I’m sorry that I messed up with Joff-“_

_“You didn’t mess anything up, Sansa! It was that little pillock that-“_

_Sansa held up her hand to stop her father from going off on another tangent that she had no patience to hear. “Whatever,” she snapped, lowering her hand again, “I just need to get out of here.”_

She had. She’d needed some open space. Living with her parents again was stifling and she was reduced to feeling like a teenager being reprimanded for staying out late with her mates all over again. Sansa took a long lungful of air in through her nose and let it out slowly again, scrunching her brow when her car radio started crackling with static. She must’ve wandered further from civilisation than she’d realised. Come to think of it, she wasn’t completely sure exactly where she was.

Pushing a few buttons, trying to find some music for distraction, she was disappointed to come up empty-handed.

“Residents of-… _tssssssssh_ …” Sansa winced at the loud burst of interference, “are reminded that-… _tsssssssh_ … warning-… _tssssssh_.” She frowned and pressed a few more buttons to find another station. “Please be aware-… _tssssh-tsssssh_ … calm-…”

Huffing in frustration, Sansa clicked through to play a CD instead, not completely disappointed that the only disc in her vehicle is an old Britney Spears album.

About halfway through the CD, Sansa spots a sign – _Rayder’s Country and Survival Supplies._ It’s a medium sized store at the roadside in the middle of absolutely _nowhere_.

“ _You’re tox-ic, I’m slippin’ un-der,”_ Sansa sings along as she pulls into the small storefront parking lot. There’s only two other cars that she can see and a large stuffed black bear standing on its hind legs right by the entrance. A painted wooden welcome sign hangs above the door, swinging on its hinges, but Sansa doesn’t really intend to go in to find out just how ‘welcoming’ it can be.

Whipping out her phone, she groans when she sees that there’s hardly any reception and fails at getting google maps to load onto her screen. _So much for not stepping foot into the store_ , Sansa thinks as she turns off Britney and takes the keys from the ignition.

The store floor featured a well-worn mossy green carpet, there’s a couple of retro looking mannequins sporting some camo hunting gear stood near a small display tent. A Hank Williams song is playing its slow twanging melody in the background as the ceiling fans whir around and around. There’s no-one else here that she can see, but the bell overhead tinkled as she walked in and she hears a shuffling kind of sound coming from what she suspects is the back-room. Behind the counter is a wall display of rifles and hunting knives. A cabinet by the entrance is slowing turning, the mechanism sounding old and creaky. Little shelves house colourful fishing flies inside, along with compact first aid kits, duck whistles, hip flasks and a whole array of swiss army knives - Sansa bends to take a peek at one in particular, all it’s various tools splayed out for all to see. She briefly thinks to purchase it for her dad; as a sort of sorry-for-being-a-little-brattish-I-know-you-only-have-my-best-interests-at-heart gift, but she wonders when he might ever use a hoof-pick anyway?

A man clears his throat right behind her, making Sansa jump out of her skin. She whirls ‘round to see a head of dark curly hair, a scruff of beard, grey eyes and some seriously pouty lips. He cracks the faintest of smiles by way of apology for startling her. As Sansa gathers her thoughts, she notices the oil stains on his jeans and how snug his soft grey tee hugs his broad shoulders - rather nicely, she thinks. “Can I help you, Miss?”

“Uh, yes,” she says, fighting back a blush, “I was just wondering if you could tell me exactly where I am and how I get back to-“

Her phone starts blaring out Madonna’s ‘Papa Don’t Preach’ as it vibrates violently in her hand. She cringes and mumbles an apology that the Mr Pouty-Li[ps waves off before she turns her back to him and answers the call.

“Dad?”

“San- _tsssshhh_ … you have to… _tsssh-tsssh_ ,” she frowns down at the phone in her hand before returning it to her ear and walking back out the door to see if she could get better reception outside.

“Dad? I can’t hear you. Are you okay?”

“-get back- _tssssh_ … everyone’s going to the base… _tssssh-tssssh_ … where are you?”

“I was just about to find out actually, I-“

“Sansa- _tssssh_ … somewhere safe-… _tssssh_.”

Another car pulls into the lot, a dark-haired man gets out and strides towards the store as Sansa’s still out front, phone pressed to the side of her head, her other hand covering her ear in an attempt to hear her father better. She wanders around the lot, trying to find a good signal spot and doesn’t notice the icy-blue stare of the man approaching Rayder’s Country and Survival Supplies Store.

“Dad?! You keep cutting out!”

“…-don’t yet know-… _tsssssh_ … get-… _tssssh-tssssh_ … base-… _tsssh_ … safe…”

The line went dead, making Sansa curse and then screw her nose up as if she were offended by the word that flew out of her own mouth. She headed back towards the store to find out the quickest way to get back home.

“And this one is for skinning, yes?” the man who had just arrived was asking Mr Pouty-Lips who now stood behind the counter as his customer turned a knife over and over in his hands.

“It’ll do the trick for rabbits, yeah,” he responded, standing with a straightened spine and his arms folded over his chest as he regarded the other man somewhat suspiciously. Sansa may have admired how the stance made Mr Pouty-Lips’ arms look, but she’ll never admit to it.

“Hmmm… and if I want to skin a larger animal?”

“Like a deer?”

Sansa’s just about to interrupt so she can quickly get directions and high-tail it out of there when a third man bursts into the shop-floor from what looks to be a stock cupboard of sorts.

“Jon!” he shouts, making Sansa jump for the second time that day. The man is much older than Mr Pouty-Lips (or ‘Jon’ as she’s just now found out), he has a grizzled sort of look with greasy greying hair and rough looking stubble. His eyes are wild as he hurries behind the counter. “It’s on the news!... Put on the radio, lad! Where is it?!” he mutters, ducking down to search under the counter.

Slamming the small ancient looking piece of technology on the surface, the man yanks up the aerial and twizzles the dial, whizzing past snippets of voices and various frequencies of static until it looks as if he’s found what he’s looking for and leans his ear down to better listen.

“…-unknown-… _tssshhh_ … advised to find safe shelter-… _tssssh_ … “

“It’s happening lad!” the older man exclaims, “it’s happening!”

“What’s happening?” Sansa squeaks, hugging her arms about herself, feeling altogether far too confused and a little vulnerable. Three sets of eyes look to her, one blue, one brown and one grey.

“We can’t be sure just yet,” the older man said, “but you’re a very lucky lass to be walkin’ through tha’ door today.”

Sansa gave the man a quizzical look as he went back to fiddling with the radio. Her eyes flit to the one named Jon to find him already watching her. Colour rose on his cheeks like he’d been caught doing something he ought not as he raised one hand up to rub at the back of his neck. “Can I help you with something, Miss?”

“You’re not done with me yet!” the other customer – the one with the piercing blue eyes- chided. “I’m not sure I want this one,” he said, bringing the blade down in a swift stab to the wooden surface of the counter-top. The older man tore his attention away from his radio to stare at the knife now with the tip of its blade embedded into the counter. He straightened slowly and set his jaw to stone as he stared down his customer.

“We won’t be serving you, boy-“ he grunted, jutting his chin towards the doors, silently inviting the man to leave.

“You will.”

“Jon,” the older man called over his shoulder, not taking his eyes off his difficult customer. Jon stepped up, puffing his chest and squaring his shoulders, staring intently at their now unwanted guest. “Help me see this young gentleman off the prem-“

_BOOM_

There was a distant rumble, not too dissimilar to thunder. The display rifles and knives rattled a little on the wall. For a beat or two everyone in the store looked to each other for an explanation.

“What was that?” Sansa ventured when no one else would.

_BOOM!_

Another terrifying sound, this time closer, Sansa felt the jolt of it beneath her feet.

“We need to get to the shelter,” the older man announced to the other bewildered people in his store.

_BOOM-BOOM!_

The noises were getting closer. “Come on!” He said and sprang into action, lifting the counter divide to slip out ‘round the other side before hurrying towards a back door.

“I’m not going anywhere with you!” The other customer scoffed, his voice uncomfortably smooth.

“Suit yourself,” the store owner comment over his shoulder, “die out ‘ere then. It’s no skin off my nose. Jon? Miss?” He looked to them both, “you can perish with _this one_ or you can join me and live.”

“Mance,” Jon said, “what’s going on?”

“I don’t rightly know yet lad-“

_BOOM-BOOM_

“Some kind of attack…” Mance says staring up at the ceiling as if he could see through it to the skies above, “or natural disaster maybe. All I know is I’ve got somewhere safe to be and I intend to get there. You two with me or not?”

With that, he disappeared through the back door leaving the three of them to look to each other in confusion. Jon starts to make a move, following Mance, who Sansa assumes is his boss. He only manages a couple of steps when the ground itself shakes beneath their feet making Sansa yelp in surprise. The three of them duck, bending at the knees as shelves rattle and products fall to the floor. The lights flicker and another loud _‘BOOM’_ -the loudest yet- assaults their ears.

“We have to go,” Jon says, grey eyes intent on her.

Sansa shakes her head. “I have to get home, I have to-“

_BOOM-BOOM_

A mannequin falls over with the last rumble and Sansa stares at it blankly as it’s head detaches from its body and rolls its way to her feet. If situations were different, she might have giggled at the fact that the thing had been displaying men’s hunting gear but the plastic face that smiled up at her featured some very 70’s style women’s make up. She blinked up at Jon, he was closer to her now, his hand outstretched, palm upturned for her to take.

“I…I don’t know-“ she stuttered, her sentiments cut off when the lights flickered, one bulb blowing with a bang and a burst of sparks followed by darkness when the other bulbs gave up. Sansa’s breath hitched in her throat. She blindly reached out and took Jon’s warm hand in the gloom of the unlit store, his thumb swept her knuckles in a strangely comforting way.

“Come on,” he murmured before Sansa allowed herself to be led out the back of Rayder’s Store.

They emerged through the door and stood at the edge of a grassy clearing, roughly 200 yards in length. At the other end was what looked like a farmhouse and two barns, one with a huge telegraph pole behind it. Sansa could just about make out the shape of Mance going back and forth between a fenced off area and one of the wooden buildings. The man they’d left behind in the store –the one who’s eyes unnerved Sansa somewhat- came and stood beside them. “What is he doing?” he asked, squinting in Mance’s direction.

“Gathering the chickens by the looks of it,” Jon answered gruffly. He turned to Sansa, opened his mouth about to speak but was interrupted by an almighty, earth-shaking ‘BOOM’, followed by the racket of car alarms screeching out front. Sansa’s heartbeat ricocheted around her ribs as she looked to Jon in a panic. He squeezed the hand she had forgotten he was holding and then the sky itself started turning black.

“Come on!” Jon yelled, starting to run towards Mance and his buildings, pulling Sansa along as her legs struggled to keep up. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d run so hard, but Jon managed to keep her steady and at a hurtling pace so fast it felt like she was flying. Her legs ached and protested but her erratic heart pushed her on. The sky rumbled loud and terrifying as she panted, nearing the barn they’d last seen Mance disappear into.

“Quickly! Quickly!” the older man ushered them into the building and then pointed towards a heavy-duty looking trap-door in the floor. Sansa skid to a halt, making Jon stop too. They panted as Jon looked to her, urging her to move. Glancing back out towards the clearing, she saw that the other man had been hot on their heels and was nearing the barn. She looked to the double doors set in the concrete floor once more.

“We don’t have time to waste!” Mance barked, walking past her and descending the steps into the floor with the last of his chickens tucked under his arm. “If yer comin’, you got to come _now_!”

Looking to Jon, both of them still breathing heavy from their run, Sansa swallowed before the guy with the icy blue eyes barged into her shoulder, nearly knocking her over in his current urgency to get to safety.

“Hey!” Jon warned. “Are you al-“

 _BOOM!_ The ground shook violently. Sansa yelped as they were both thrown to the floor, her breath whooshing from her lungs.

“Oh shit!” Jon cursed, scrabbling back to his feet and pulling Sansa up with him. “Are you alright?”

She was about to say ‘yes’ – despite her panic, despite the confusing and terrifying situation, despite the stinging graze she now suspects she has on her cheek from hitting the floor – she’s fine. But then she noticed the flames coming from the store across the clearing. “Look!” she pointed a shaky finger in the direction of the destruction.

“Come on!” Jon yelled, tugging her towards the trap doors.

They almost tripped down the stairs where Mance was waiting, slamming a thick door closed, sealing them inside.

“What is this place?” Sansa asked, her voice sounding every bit as shaken as her nerves whilst Mance led them down, down, down, deeper into the concrete ground, opening and then locking doors as they went.

“Our salvation,” Mance ran a hand through his greying, greasy hair, “a place to stay until we figure out what’s going on out there,” he moved past her, Jon and the other man to another door, it swung open to reveal what looked like any normal sitting room, with a sofa, tv, bookshelves, a shaded lamp, dining table, paintings on the walls and a kitchenette at one end; except this sitting room was gods-knows how many feet underground. “Our new life,” Mance declared ominously, “for however long we are in need of it.”


	2. Day 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For the photo prompt day of the Jonsa Spring Challenge

The dull echo of a boom shakes Jon out of his sleep. He hadn’t meant to close his eyes as he sprawled out on Mance’s old couch, but since there’s not too much to do when being holed up in this God-forsaken bunker for the past 3 days, then sleep seems to be an attractive option.

“You were snoring,” Sansa comments from where she sits cross-legged on the floor, trying to fit a piece into the puzzle she’s working on.

Jon swallows and sits up, wiping the tiny amount of drool from the side of his mouth. _You’re a right ‘Prince Charming’ you, aren’t ya?_ “Sorry.”

“It didn’t bother me,” she shrugs before turning and flashing him a smile that he’s come to appreciate far too much for someone he’d only met a handful of days ago.

Rubbing his eyes with the heels of his hands, Jon lets out a yawn before moving to sit on the floor next to her. He’s about to ask if he can help, turning his head to the side to look at the image she’s trying to re-create from the lid – it was a painting of a lone wolf, howling up at the moon.

“Don’t sit too close,” she warns, scooting away. Jon’s brow furrows as he shoots her a confused look. “I’ve worn these clothes for the past three days! I stink!”

He chuckled at that and wondered what the hell a pretty girl like Sansa was doing to end up where he lived on the outskirts of Mole’s Town – the arse-end of nowhere. “You used the shower this morning.”

She had. She’d used it right after he did. Her hair was tinged a dark copper in places where it was still damp. They were all surprised to find out just how prepared Mance had been with this bunker – even Jon, who’d worked for the man for the past five years was shocked at the sheer expanse of the place, how much food he had stored up and the facilities that were installed. So far, they’d seen a huge warehouse-sized room full of supplies and foodstuffs, there was a generator room which powered the electricity and air purifying system and waste shoot that Mance said led to an underground chamber where unrecyclable waste can be stored. They had heat, light, water and enough supplies to sustain the four of them for four years, according to his boss, although Jon hopes that calculation won’t need to be tested.

The ‘living quarters’ as Mance had deemed them, consisted of the lounge/kitchen, one bathroom and Mance’s bedroom. If you ignored the fact that there were no windows, the floor was concrete, and the walls were white painted bricks – then you’d be forgiven for thinking that these particular rooms were part of any ordinary house. The man had even thought to prepare a little cordoned off space in the store room for his chickens _for fuck’s sake!_ Jon knew that Mance was what folks called a ‘survivalist’ – but this was taking it to a whole new level. It seems he’d been anticipating the end of the world for quite some time. What he hadn’t anticipated however, was that not only would he be saving himself, but other people too. There were two smaller rooms that could be used to sleep in but there were no beds and Jon could only liken them to what he thought being in a prison cell might feel like. Opting for comfort rather than privacy, Sansa had chosen to sleep on the couch and when Ramsey had declared that he’d hunker down in the adjacent armchair, Jon had decided to stay put and sleep on the floor in the sitting room too. Sansa had shot Jon what he supposes was a thankful look. He’s not sure that she’s all that comfortable with being alone with this Ramsey guy and he can’t say he blames her. He’s an odd one with an intense look in his eyes and a smile that unnerves Jon, but he can’t quite put his finger on _why_.

“Yeah, I used the shower, but my clothes still stink… If we’re down here for much longer, I’ll have to wash them,” Sansa groused, offering up a puzzle piece to a space in the picture she was trying to fill.

“Well if you stink, I stink,” Jon shrugged.

Sansa started to dramatically waft her hand in front of her cute wrinkled up nose. “Yeah, I wasn’t going to say anything.”

Jon laughed and lifted his arm to sniff his armpit. “Don’t know what you’re talking about city-girl. I’m as fresh as a daisy!”

“I’m not sure what you think daisies smell like,” Sansa chuckled in return, “besides, I’m not a _‘city-girl’_ , I don’t live in the inner city, I live near the base and-“

“Wherever it is, it’s swankier than this rinky-dink town, that’s for sure.”

She did _that smile_ at him then – the one where it looks as though the corners of her lips are losing their battle to stay impassive as her eyes expose the twinkle within. Jon couldn’t help but return it, and each time he did, he forced himself to remember that she’d mentioned something about a boyfriend before –‘Harry’ or some other name that fancy folks tend to have- not that a girl like her would even entertain the thought of maybe going on a date with a guy like Jon, but those looks she kept throwing his way made him hold on to his breath, just a tiny bit. And besides, flirting couldn’t hurt could it? If that’s even what this was? Jon’s not quite sure. Most of his world revolves around his job at Mance’s store and drinking with the boys in a dive of a bar that no self-respecting woman would step foot in -especially not one like Sansa- so he’s no time to even _attempt_ to flirt with anyone anyways.

Except now, all they seem to have is _time._ Time to wait around to figure out if the world is ending above their heads or not. Mance has some large radio communications system that looks like it’s straight from the 80s sat in the corner of the room. He says it’s wired up to the telegraph pole out back, so he should be able to get a good signal but all he’s managed to latch onto so far is static. It stands unused at present, as Mance naps in his room – no doubt he’ll be out soon, twiddling dials as they’re all forced to listen to various frequencies of deafening crackles and whooshes.

“It certainly _is_ a backwards place,” Ramsey comments in a sickeningly smooth voice, making Jon and Sansa jump where they sat together on the floor. Jon hadn’t even realised he was in the room with them. Last he remembered, the guy had gone to watch the chickens scratch about in their pen – an activity that Jon thought a bit odd at the time but had shrugged it off since they’re stuck down here with absolutely nothing to do. Ramsey is from Dreadfort after all – they’re all a bit peculiar ‘round that way anyway. Maybe watching a cluck of hens get bothered by Mance’s rooster is something of a novelty to the guy?

“I didn’t hear you come back,” Sansa breathed, her hand flying to her chest as if that would calm her nerves. Ramsey’s smile widened where he sat innocently at the dining table.

“I’m quiet,” was all he said in response as he continued to watch them.

Jon cleared his throat and offered Sansa a piece of the puzzle. “I think that bit goes there.” A rumble echoed from above, but after three days of listening to the noises, no-one makes any move to acknowledge it. They’re all hoping that the booms and crashes and the growling rumbles of the earth will end soon, and they can leave this God-forsaken bunker.

The door to Mance’s room swung open to reveal his bed-messed boss, still yawning from his nap. He stretched and smacked his lips together before entering the living room area.

“Must be nice to have a bed to sleep in,” Ramsey commented, earning him a warning look flashed from Mance.

“Funny that,” the older man said, leaning nonchalantly on a bookshelf, “because I was just thinkin’ that it _must be nice_ to be in the right place at the right time so decent folk can save yer life,” he finished his jibe with a pointed look that Jon knew meant he expected Ramsey to shut the fuck up. Jon’s been on the receiving end of that look a time or two for his occasional bout of cheek so he’s rather familiar with it.

Ramsey’s sickly smile never fell from his face, he tilted his head, his icy blue stare fixed upon Mance save for a cursory flick to where Jon and Sansa sat on the floor. “I just thought it would be fairer if we worked on a rota,” he said, “I’m sure Sansa here would appreciate a night in a proper bed… and it’s a big double bed too” Ramsey finished by setting his gaze on Sansa beside him.

Jon felt rather than saw Sansa tense where she sat, making him narrow his eyes at the other man. He was making her feel uncomfortable and Jon did not like that one bit. “I’m fine on the couch,” she says, although it mostly comes out on a whisper before she clears her throat and offers his boss a small smile. “This is Mance’s bunker, and besides, he has a bad back, I’m…I’m absolutely fine where I am.”

Ramsey grins and sucks in a breath, opening his twisted mouth to start talking again – only Mance is faster and starts to boom over him in a loud, commanding voice. “Right!” he claps his hands together before rubbing his palms up and down, the noise of his dry, cracked skin sounding like raspy paper. “I’m gonna try an’ get a better signal. See if we can’t hear what’s going on up there.”

As if on cue, the earth rumbled making the shade on the lamp rattle and wobble. Mance settled into his wheeled computer chair as if oblivious as he pulled himself flush with the desk that housed his radio equipment. Jon stood, eyeing his boss twiddling with the dials. Any moment now the annoying static that buzzed in his ear like an irritating wasp would start up and Jon fancied himself to be anywhere but here right now. He glanced over at Ramsey who had his eyes fixed to Sansa still sat on the floor. That was annoying too.

“I’m gonna go stretch my legs,” he announced, waiting for a beat or two, hopeful that Sansa would join him.

“I’ll come with you,” she said, rising from her space on the floor and brushing her jeans down with her hands, “this puzzle can wait,” she smiled as she looked up to him.

Jon grinned, “only if you don’t mind following my stink.”

That earnt him a smirk and an eye roll, both of which he kind of liked.

“I would join you, but I don’t think my presence would be welcome amongst the two lovebirds,” Ramsey said with his cloying smile. Jon shot him his best _‘shut the fuck up’_ expression whilst he held the door open for Sansa, Ramsey’s grin following her all the way out.

Sansa was quiet for a while as they walked side by side, occasionally their shoulders would brush or Jon would stop to let Sansa through a narrow piece of corridor first. They found themselves in the huge store room – there wasn’t anywhere else for them to go really, so it was no surprise.

“Thanks,” Sansa mumbled finally, stopping to run a finger over the rows and rows of tinned food on the shelving in front of her.

Jon raised his brows, “what for?”

“Suggesting to get out of that room,” she sighed, “Ramsey is-“ an insanely adorable expression came upon her face as she looked to be deliberating her next words.

“A creepy fucker?” He supplied, making her giggle some.

“Well I was going to try to be more diplomatic about it but… yeah… he _is_ a creepy fucker,” her lips wrapped around the word in an alien fashion and her cheeks coloured beautifully at the sound of the curse in her own voice. It made Jon grin widely, as Sansa ducked her head and tucked some of that silky looking copper hair behind her ear. She glanced back up at him with those crystal blue eyes, catching him staring.

Jon cleared his throat and looked away, suddenly really interested in the ingredients of the tinned chilli on the shelf in front of him. “So… uh… “ he cursed himself internally. _Jesus Snow, get a grip._

“I hope Mance finds someone on those radio waves,” she said, throwing him a lifeline in conversation.

“Yeah,” Jon agreed, rubbing at the back of his neck, “hopefully we can get out soon. Your family must be worried sick.” Sansa gave him a small smile in agreement and not for the first time Jon thought that it must be nice to have someone in your life who _would_ worry about you.

It’s not that Jon thinks himself particularly unlucky in life, but with a mother who died in childbirth and a father that never came forward to claim him, he supposes his is not a typical kind of set up. Old Nan – the woman who ended up raising him, was kind enough, he’d never felt neglected or mistreated in any way but…well… Nan had passed away when he was 16 and now at the age of 26, he doesn’t feel any closer to obtaining that allusive ‘family’ that had always been missing from his life. Sansa had told him about all her siblings and her loving parents and he’s a little ashamed to say that his initial response was to envy her.

But then she’d burst into tears that first day down in the bunker – worrying about what might’ve happened to her loved-ones and Jon had been a little in awe at the ferocity of her concern. Never had he ever felt _that_ way about someone, like a part of your heart was always with someone else and if they were to come to harm, you would too. He wanted that.

He’d held Sansa awkwardly that day, not quite sure where to put his hands or what to do at all with the sobbing girl burying her face in his chest as Mance made her a God-awful cup of coffee and Ramsey just sat there observing with his cold eyes. He remembers she was embarrassed after and couldn’t seem to stop apologising to him. He’s not sure why. She was upset. _Hell_ – the whole world might be coming to an end above their heads, so it stands to reason she could bawl if she wanted. _Fancy folks don’t like to show emotions, I guess._

Besides, they don’t fully know what’s going on up there. Sansa said all her family were back at Winterfell – that’s a good amount of miles from here – maybe whatever it is that’s happening is only localised? Not that it would matter anyway, what with them living so close to an army base, Sansa was sure that _that’s_ where they’d be heading and Jon could think of no safer place to be honest – well, ‘cept for here maybe.

They wandered the aisles of metal shelving that Mance had set up in the massive warehouse-sized store room. In truth, Jon was pretty impressed – there was so much and Mance had managed to stock it down here for Gods knows how many years without folks knowing about it. Heck – just the sheer size of the place down here was worth cluckin’ over he supposes.

“Oh!” Sansa squeaked from a couple of aisles over. Jon wandered and weaved the shelves so he could meet up with her and see what’s peaked her interest. “Dried yeast!” she declared with a bright smile as she pointed to a medium sized sack.

Jon’s eyes flicked from the product on the shelf back to Sansa, “you’re… excited… about _yeast_?”

“Shut up!” she laughed, playfully scolding him by swatting his chest. Jon played along, rubbing where she’d thwacked him and making a pained face. It made him smile that for a brief second, she genuinely seemed concerned that he’d been hurt. Shaking her head at him, Sansa continued, “look, we’ve got bread flour, yeast, sugar,” she listed, pointing at the various sacks, “all we need is a little bit of salt and some warm water and we can make some bread!”

“And we want to do that because…?”

Sansa huffed and rolled her eyes, she opened her mouth to speak but was interrupted by a succession of banging, clanging noises that sounded nothing like the booms they had been used to. This was closer, sharper, not so devastating and yet somehow more worrying. “Come on,” he urged. Making bread could wait for now.

Sansa followed him back towards the ‘living quarters’. They’d reached them just in time for Mance’s head to appear around the door frame, looking this way and that. “That noise not you then?” he asked once he spotted them coming his way. Jon shook his head. “Hmm,” his boss grunted, turning to face the stairs that lead back up to the surface. The banging was louder now and Mance decided to go investigate. Jon and Sansa followed before Ramsey appeared and brought up the rear.

 _Thump! Thump! Thump!_ The noise beckoned them up the stairs until it was accompanied by someone shouting “Rayder! Let me in!” _Thump! Thump! Thump!_ “After everything I’ve done for you! I never told anyone about this place! LET! _Thump!_ ME! _Thump!_ IN! Thump! RAYDERRRR!!”

Mance paused and looked round at them all following him up the steps.

“I know you’re in there!” the voice bellowed, the familiarity of it striking Jon suddenly.

“That’s Jorah,” Jon whispered, urging Mance to continue up the stairs and let the man in. Jorah was mostly a recluse. He owned a great deal of land on the outskirts of Mole’s Town and kept himself to himself. Being a keen hunter though, he was a semi-regular at Rayder’s store and Jon’s seen him prop up the bar on a lonely looking night or two as well. “How does he know about the bunker?”

“I might’ve got ‘is help in installin’ the generator years back,” Mance explained, climbing the steps and not bothering to look back. “Asked ‘im to forget he ever saw the place. Reckon he ignored that bit, mind.”

They reached the space at the top of the stairs where the big heavy duty sealed doors stood before them. There were two small panes of double-glazed glass where the face of Jorah Mormont was framed in one. He shielded his vision with his hands and leant against the little window to peer in at them. “Let him in,” Jon said, making a move to start working on the bolts.

“Hang on there, lad,” Mance halted him with an outstretched arm. Jon looked to his boss in confusion and then up to where Jorah was huffing the breath from his nose against the glass. “What you hidin’ with tha’ scarf, Mormont?” Mance called out to the man on the other side of the door. Jon hadn’t even noticed it, but sure enough, Jorah had a scarf wrapped around the lower half of his face, right up to his nose.

“Just let me in Rayder,” he said, his tone a little threatening. Jon narrowed his eyes. Something wasn’t right.

“Let me see yer face and I might think on it.”

“Mance,” Jorah warned, tilting his head and keeping the blaze in his eyes trained on Jon’s boss. “You’ve got Snow and these others in there. Let me in. I’ve got nowhere else to go.”

“What’s going on out there?” Mance asked, cool as you like.

Jorah shook his head and glanced away, clearly irritated. “I don’t have time to-“

“We have time,” Mance’s lips pulled down at the corners as he indicated to Jon, Sansa and Ramsey, “tell us, _friend_ , is it warfare? Are we under attack?”

“You don’t understand-“

“I understand that I have something you want. Salvation. A place to stay safe. And I also understand that this bunker is sealed and clean from any kind of harmful contamination… so I’ll ask again… Tell me, _friend,_ what’s going on out there that you got ta wrap yer face up like that?” Mance finished his demands with raised brows.

Jon could see the rage roll in over Jorah’s expression like a summer storm. “JUST LET ME IN! LET ME IN! LET ME IN! LET ME IN!” he screamed, rattling and kicking at the door. Sansa moved behind Jon, he could feel her grip onto the back of his t-shirt as she peered over his shoulder to watch Mormont in his hissy fit.

In all the commotion, Jorah’s scarf fell to reveal the whole of his jaw as grey as ash and scaly like an alligator hide. He paused, realising they’d all spotted his affliction, eyes wide with worry. “This is nothing to do with what’s going on out here,” he pleaded.

Mance grunted and seemed to chew on the other man’s words. “That so?”

“RAYDER YOU FUCKER! LET ME IN OR SO HELP ME GOD I’LL-“

“You’ll what?” Mance asked calmly, “kick yer foot bloody tryin’ to break down this ‘ere door? I don’t think so Jorah.”

“Mance,” Jon said quietly, “we’ve got to let him in.”

“We don’t.”

“He can’t stay out there. Look at him! He’s ill!”

“Oh aye,” Mance finally turned to face him, “and who’s makin’ ‘im better? Last time I looked you weren’t one to own a fancy medical degree…unless I’m mistaken? Hmm, lad?”

Jon clenched his jaw, glaring back at the older man. He had a point, but the fact didn’t sit comfortably in Jon’s gut. He glanced to Jorah outside.

“Jon,” Mance said, getting his attention back, “we don’t know what kind of infection or whatever that is. And we don’t know how to treat it.” He turned back to look at the distressed man beyond the door.

“Rayder, please!” Jorah cried, his despair as clear as day.

“And my guess is,” Mance continued, ignoring the plea of the man outside, “that whatever’s out there that’s made ‘im this desperate to be in ‘ere would follow ‘im in if we open that door… No,” he shook his head with finality before walking past Jon and the others to go back down the steps, “we’re not lettin’ anythin’ contaminate _my bunker!”_

“Rayder!” Jorah yelled, “RAYDERRR!!” he slammed his head against the glass making Sansa yelp and her grip on Jon’s shirt intensify. Jon shifted, moving more squarely between her and the door. He’s not really sure why he’d done it, there was no way that Mormont was getting through that sealed steel, but he’d done it none-the-less.

“Let me in you heartless fuckers!” Jorah spat at the window pane, his saliva sliding down the glass.

Ramsey laughed, and folded his arms, adopting some sort of stance of authority as he watched the rabid man outside. “What was that?” he taunted cupping his ear, “you want to come in?”

“Fuck you!” Jorah screamed before he started to repeatedly crash his head against the little window. Soon, the glass was smeared and splattered with blood and saliva.

“Oh my God!” Sansa let out on a single sob, making Jon turn and grab her to him, hiding her face into his chest as if that would shield her from the awful scene.

Ramsey only chuckled menacingly, stepping closer to the door as he continued to goad Mormont.

“Come on,” Jon whispered, “lets go and make some bread.”


	3. Day 46

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to everyone who's sticking with this story - especially those who have left lovely comments and well-wishes for my spotty daughter.

Sansa had volunteered yet again to clean out Mance’s chickens. She knew Jon found it amusing, that the ‘city-girl’ as he’d taken to calling her was so keen to get dirty with the hens. In truth, she found herself offering to complete the task for two reasons – 1) just to _do something_ , to feel useful. Most of their days had consisted of listening to Mance’s God-awful collection of country music and reading his selection of books (and to be honest, Sansa’s not sure that all that Stephen King material is good for her nerves – she yearns for a good magazine or a sweet romance novel.) And 2) the chickens have their own little UV lamp to keep them happy and Sansa sorely misses the sun. You would think being a daughter of the North that it wouldn’t be the case, but even on the cloudiest of Winterfell days, the sun will still strain to get a few rays poking through. She so dearly misses the outside world that here she is, scraping chicken shit out of a hen house just for an excuse to be near a little UV lamp for a while. Pathetic.

Sansa still can’t quite get over just how prepared Mance had been with this bunker – not only all the facilities and stores for himself, but this little coup for his birds. The area took up only a few square metres and was fenced off from the rest of the store room with chicken wire. There was a wooden hen house and small water trough. The patch of concrete had been dug up to allow bare earth to be their floor, the dirt that the chickens liked to scratch at tightly compact and littered with straw.

“Oh!” she exclaims while picking through the nest box area, being careful to only take the soiled hay when two fluffy yellow heads pop up and start chirping at her. “Hello!” she smiles down at the chicks as their mother comes clucking around them, “didn’t see you two in there.”

“What a sweet sight,” came a voice from behind her, making Sansa jump and grasp at her chest. The sight of Ramsey stood with his arms folded as he watched her, that ever-present smirk upon his lips did nothing to calm her nerves. He had an unsettling habit of creeping up behind her and appearing suddenly. Often times, he’d say very little, just stand there and observe whatever it was she was doing. Sometimes he’d just sit and listen to her and Jon talk. She’d try to get him to join the conversation (it was the polite thing to do after all) but Ramsey seemed to prefer to stay on the outside of it all, _watching_ … with that damned smile on his horrid lips. “I thought we were eating all the eggs?” he asked, stepping over the chicken wire that fenced the birds in and standing right beside where Sansa was currently crouched.

“Mance said to leave a few,” Sansa explained, “some of the hens are older and will stop laying, so he wants a few chicks to grow and replace them.” She looked up to him, glancing away just as quickly when she found him watching her with his cold blue eyes. “Hopefully we can get out of here before they’re really needed though,” she whispered.

Sansa’s not so sure about that. Her hope of leaving this place and returning to the surface was waning with each passing day. Mance still tried to tune into any radio signals and was coming up empty handed daily. They daren’t open the doors and find out themselves. The man – Jorah Mormont – the crazy one who’d tried to get in – Ramsey says he near enough mashed his own damn head in by crashing it into that little pane of glass at the door. He had been desperate to get in and Sansa had to agree with Mance that that meant there was _something_ out there to be fearful of. Ramsey hadn’t seemed fearful though, he’d stayed at the top of those steps to watch the fraught man bloody himself silly and Sansa wonders if he’d found some form of entertainment from the whole awful event. The next day Mance said that Jorah was laying on the ground outside the door. They didn’t know if he was asleep, concussed or dead at the time.

He still hadn’t moved 25 days later, so that gave them their answer.

Shuddering at the thought and the sick sensation in her gut, Sansa tries to ignore Ramsey’s presence and continues picking though the hay.

“Hmmm,” Ramsey hummed, “so he’s… _repopulating,”_ he surmised.

“I guess so,” Sansa shrugged.

She heard Ramsey chuckle above her and felt the sudden need to stand, not liking his vantage point above her. “How fitting,” he said, eyeing her as she stood and brushed at her jeans. She shot him a curious look, not sure what he’s on about. “Well,” he started, with that ever-present sickly smile, “if it’s the apocalypse up there,” he licked his lips and kept his eyes trained on her, Sansa shifted uneasily on her feet, “then we might need to _repopulate_ down here…don’t you think?”

“Very funny,” Sansa cringed, taking a step back, wanting to get away from this conversation.

“Ahh,” Ramsey smiled, “I guess I’m not your first choice for the job then? I think we can rule out the old man…so that just leaves… _Snow_ …” he tilted his head in a manner that Sansa found far too menacing. She continued to back away, but Ramsey stepped forward. “He’d do it, you know? Whether you agreed to it or not. I’ve seen the way he looks at you with hunger in his eyes… Oh I don’t think he’d do anything about it _under normal circumstances,_ that is… Snow’s just your average boring guy, but how long, _sweet Sansa_ , do you think it would take for a man deprived of gratification to act upon his urges? Hmmm?”

“I don’t-“

“You think Snow would be able to control himself after 6 months of being down here… with you… seducing him with your smiles?... ensnaring him with your laughter?... How about a year? Two maybe?” He slowly stepped closer, his smile goading her. “ _Come on Sansa!_ He won’t be able to help himself… he might even try to convince you that he _cares_ … but really… it’s because you’re the only woman down here… yours is the only pretty little mouth… perky little breasts-“

“Ramsey!” she yelped, meaning for the it come out as a scolding and not a plea.

He tilted his head again, seemingly pleased by her shocked reaction. “-and tight little cunt that any of us want to fuck.” Sansa sucked in a breath and Ramsey seemed thrilled by that too. “It’s only a matter of _time_ Sansa. The longer we’re all down here…“ he leant forwards, his next words a whisper, “perhaps we’ll take turns with you… would you like that?”

“Ramsey!” came Jon’s voice, calling from where he was now striding towards them.

“Oh look,” Ramsey smiled, “here he is now.” He turned to Jon, raising his voice to meet him, “I was just telling Sansa here about the inner workings of a man’s mind,” he commented nonchalantly as if he’d merely been discussing the benefits of a balanced diet.

“Were you?” Jon eyed him suspiciously before turning to look Sansa over, seeming to give her sweep from head to toe as if looking for evidence of harm. “You ok?” he asked.

“Y-yeah,” she answered a little shakily, eyes flitting to Ramsey and then away again to Jon. She managed to give him a smile but could tell that he wasn’t buying it.

“Are you making her uncomfortable again?” Jon accused, eyes boring into Ramsey with clear warning. The man did nothing but grin in return like this was his favourite game.

He chuckled to himself and shook his head back at Jon. “Quite possessive, aren’t you? Didn’t your mother ever teach you how to share your toys?”

 _That’s low, even for you,_ Sansa thought, knowing about Jon’s parentless childhood. Her eye homed in on where Jon’s hand was clenching and unclenching at his side, she’s sure if Ramsey goaded him any further then he’s bound to start using his fists. “Come on,” she reached out, touching Jon’s arm, “let’s go back and play a card game or something. Ramsey can finish clearing out the chickens,” she levelled her eyes with the man in question, “can’t you?”

“Anything for you, _sweet Sansa,”_ Ramsey grinned his toothy grin.

Sansa made to move but Jon continued to eye the other man, getting to the point where an already uncomfortable situation was even more so. Just as she thinks Jon might launch himself at the smiling ‘creepy fucker’ as Jon had dubbed him, he grunts instead and turns to follow her away from the chicken coup.

As they near the living quarters, Sansa’s heart rate picks up at the mere sound of someone’s voice who definitely isn’t one of her bunker inmates. “… I repeat, stay indoors, somewhere sealed off if you can,” said the voice – a man. Jon and Sansa looked to each other and then began to sprint towards the ‘living room’ where they found Mance, hunched over his radio. He turned and gave them a grin like that cat that got the cream as the man’s voice continued on, “th-the disease seems to be air-born, t-treatment so far has been unsuccessful…” the fuzz of the silence gave Sansa time to pause and marvel at such a small thing as a stranger’s voice being met with such relief. It was a kind voice, she thought to herself, for some unfathomable reason, Sansa decided that she liked this man very much. “…this is a recording…” the voice started again,”…m-my name is Samwell Tarly and I am a junior scientist at the CDC… it has been 46 days since the incident… origins are still unclear… I will continue to transmit my findings as long as I can but I would highly advise that everyone stay inside…I-I repeat, stay indoors, somewhere sealed off if you can…”

Jon and Sansa stared at each other, and then to Mance as the transmission continued on and on, Samwell Tarly’s voice looping round and round, bouncing off the walls as Mance continued to look at them both, pleased as punch. “Told ya, didn’t I lad? I knew this ol’ gal would come in handy,” he turned back and slapped an affectionate hand on his old radio equipment. Twisting in his seat to smile at them again, the curve of his lips faltering when he locked eyes with Ramsey coming in behind them. There appeared to be no love lost between the two men, Mance having made it quite clear on a number of occasions that he’d wished he hadn’t extended the offer of safety to the Dreadfort lad, and instead left him outside to rot with poor old Jorah and the others.

Jon turned to glare at Ramsey as he entered. Sansa didn’t bother to look… until _those words_ left Jon’s mouth. “Why have you got blood on your shirt?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I will try, but due to my 4yr old having chickenpox, the next update may be late and might not make it in time for the closure of the challenge. Sorry about that.


	4. Day 78

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mentions of blood. Character death.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this one took longer to finish - thank you so much to all your really kind comments - especially well wishes to my daughter (who has now gotten over the chickenpox...however, her 18 month old brother now has it so...you know....JOY! lol)  
> This whole fic was originally going to have much longer chapters but I'm finding it easier to break it up into smaller ones so this was meant to be a 4 chap fic, but it's now a 6 chap fic - please don't kill me!

Burning off some energy running round and round the huge store-room with a large sack of flour slung over his shoulder hadn’t helped this morning, and the steaming hot shower spray that was currently hitting him square in face didn’t either; Jon could still hear the quiet rustle of movement and short jagged breaths that were now permanently engraved into his memory. _You don’t know that that’s what she was doin’_ , Jon reasoned with himself. _Get your mind out of the gutter Snow, for Christ sake!_ It was too late, he realised, as he wrapped his hand around his cock, closed his eyes and gave himself a few slow strokes. _‘Sides, everyone’s allowed to rub one out every now n’ again. She probably thought you were asleep, you filthy animal….not that I could’ve done anythin’ anyway what with her on the couch n’ me on the floor in that dark room… you could’ve coughed or somethin’ - let her know you were awake…_

Jon sighed and guiltily released the grip from around himself. Reaching for the bar of soap, he lathered up his hands and got to work on his tired aching muscles. He’s been trying to keep active down here in this God-forsaken hole in the ground, running and lifting all while grumbling about being cooped up like one of Mance’s birds. _Mance’s birds_ – _fuck_ , that was sight he’d wished he’d avoided. What Ramsey had done to those little balls of yellow fluff and one of the hens he’d managed to get his psycho-hands on was quite frankly sickening and the only thing Jon’s thankful for is that Sansa didn’t see any of the carnage… Sansa’s pretty much the only thing he’s thankful for down here, period. But even that is tinged with something bitter – _she has a boyfriend_. And besides, it’s not like a pretty little thing like Sansa Stark would go for the likes of Jon anyhow. It doesn’t stop Jon wonderin’ what’s become of this ‘Harry’ fella though. During some of his darker moods he imagines a man of no description, save for the body-wide covering of painful ashy scales like what poor old Mormont up there. _That would upset her, you idiot,_ he chastises himself, _what kind of man wishes death on another? She might very well love him,_ he thinks glumly, his hands slowing as they skim soapy suds across his chest. _She don’t talk about him all that much though._

Jon frowned at the white tiles ahead of him. _Don’t start tryin’ to see things that ain’t there, Snow. You’ll drive yourself mad and probably scare her. If she don’t want you, she don’t want you. That’s that._

It was true though, Sansa was stuck down here with three men that she hadn’t known a lick about on that cursed day that the door got sealed shut. The last thing she wants is for one of those men to start puttin’ any ‘moves’ on her. _Yes, because you have ‘moves’ Snow_ , Jon thought with a sarcastic snort rushing from his nose.

 _At least she don’t have to deal with Creepy Fucker no more._ Ramsey had claimed the blood on his shirt to be his own on that day, but Jon had demanded he show him where it’d come from. He remembers shifting himself between Sansa and Ramsey, squaring his shoulders, smelling a fight brewing in the air what with the sickening smile on the man’s face and the violent gleam in his eye. There was a short scuffle of sorts, which ended with Ramsey being thrown into a lockable store room where the mad-man pissed into a sack of oatmeal in protest. Once the source of the blood had been found, the room had been emptied after Mance, Jon and Sansa agreed that it should be made Ramsey’s permanent residence. So here he was, living with his boss, the girl that he’s pretty sure he’s developing some strong feelings for _and their prisoner_ – all while the world was probably coming to an end outside of their strange little arrangement. It was pretty fucked up.

Five minutes later, Jon stepped out from under the jet of water, feeling clean from his wash but dirtied from how he’d been unable to stop himself from jacking off in the end. _As long as that’s all I do,_ he reasoned with himself. _Just leave her be. Just be friends. She don’t want you anyhow._ He ruffled a towel through his hair and then heard the voice of the _‘other’_ person in his life right now (of sorts). Mance had managed to tune into Samwell Tarly’s daily update each time, and the sometimes stuttering confessions of no perceivable change out there seemed comforting to Jon – it was _someone else_ ; there was someone actually _doing_ something. He slung the towel around his waist and paused to listen to Samwell’s recording through the closed door of the bathroom.

“I-I have managed to get access to some security cameras located outside the CDC. There are the occasional pictures of people out there…but… from what I can see… they are a-affected by the disease… it-it seems to be turning them quite…violent…my advice still stands…do not go outside i-if you can help it…I have been thinking about getting some test subjects b-but I fear they may overpower me and m-my assistant…”

Jon smiled to himself. From what they know of Samwell’s situation, he’s holed up at the CDC with a woman named Gilly. He calls her his assistant but a few weeks back they’d heard her mutter in the background that she was _‘just a cleaner’_ and that Samwell shouldn’t call her that. The man had bumbled out a stuttering answer that he _will_ call her his assistant because he didn’t know where he’d be without her help. The quiet _‘thank you, Sam’_ they’d heard in the background had made Sansa’s face split into a wide grin. She leant over to him and whispered “I think they like each other” as if they were listening to some kind of soap opera.

“S-so,” Samwell’s voice continued, “i-it is with reluctance that I think I may need to turn to our little population of lab rats we have here as t-test subjects…I don’t normally deal with l-live subjects though so I-“

His ramblings were cut off as if someone had silenced him before the soft voice of Gilly could be heard. “You’ll be doing the right thing. We need to know if it’s safe out there.”

“I will soon be starting to gather test evidence using our lab rats,” Samwell said, sound resigned before Gilly interrupted again.

“You’re a good man… and you work too hard,” she said, sounding like the words were uttered from behind a fond smile. “Here, broadcast this-” both voices stopped and there seemed to be a bit of tapping and scraping against whatever recording device Samwell used.

Jon opened the door to the bathroom and walked into the living area, his hair still dripping beads of shower water down his back. Sansa was there, facing away from him and wearing one of Mance’s old oversized t-shirts. She’d changed the sleeves by rolling them up a little and synching the material around her waist so it halfway resembled a dress. Jon knew that she yearned for her own clothing down here, and he tried not to admire how she looked in men’s clothes – mainly long shirts that she wears when the jeans and top from that first day are drying from being washed. He can’t help but think that he’d prefer to see her in one of his shirts though and quickly shakes his head of the notion before the first few beats of a song start to blare out from the radio.

“Music!” Sansa gasped happily. “Music that isn’t dreary!” she exclaimed, making Jon snort (they were already fed up with Mance’s limited collection). She spun around at the sound, eyes widening as they landed on Jon. Her gazed flit over his torso and he tried not to puff out his chest too noticeably. Biting her lip in a way that Jon wanted to do himself, Sansa tried to contain her grin as her hip started to bounce to the beat of the music. _Dolly Parton_ , Jon realised before Sansa started singing along to the lyrics.

 _Tumble outta bed_ __  
And I stumble to the kitchen  
Pour myself a cup of ambition  
And yawn and stretch  
And try to come to life

She twirls and bounces her way over to him, getting close as her sweet voice continues to mix with the song.

_Jump in the shower_ _  
And the blood starts pumpin'_

Sansa stops in front of him and with a wicked smile, walks her fingers along the ‘waistband’ of the towel he’d used to cover himself before twirling back round again and skipping around the couch.

 __  
Out on the street  
The traffic starts jumpin'  
The folks like me on the job from 9 to 5

Jon wanted to groan. Just that small touch had started to make him hard again. And she was just so… _happy_. He couldn’t stop smiling at her. Jon laughed as Sansa jumped up onto the couch before belting out the chorus.

 _Workin' 9 to 5,_ __  
What a way to make a livin'  
Barely gettin' by  
It's all takin' and no givin'  
They just use your mind  
And they never give you credit  
It's enough to drive you crazy  
If you let it

Jon leant over to a pile of clothes on the sideboard (some of Mance’s that Sansa had altered for him so that they fit) and grabbed some shorts to yank on under his towel. He decided to forego a shirt. _Fuck it._ He’d seen the way Sansa’s eyes ate him up. He liked that. He wouldn’t mind one bit being devoured by her.

_She has a boyfriend. She has a boyfriend. She has a boyfriend._

_But he’s not here._

_9 to 5, for service and devotion_ __  
You would think that I would deserve a fat promotion  
Want to move ahead but the boss won't seem to let me  
I swear sometimes that man is out to get me!

Sansa bounced around on the couch excitedly, holding her hand curled in front of her lips as if she were gripping a microphone, every sway of her hips and swing of her arm full of pure _happiness_ at hearing something different. Jon stood there watching her with a smile on his face (no doubt a goofy one) as she continued the song with an exuberant gleam in her eye. _God_ , he wanted to hold her – he wanted to kiss her and do many other things too, but to just _hold her_ and have her nestle into him would be enough. She was like that first spring flower that emerges from the still frosty ground; one point of bright cheerful colour amongst the gloom of Winter’s end. He was so, _so_ thankful that she’d walked into Mance’s store that day. _Imagine being stuck down here without her? With just Creepy Fucker and -_  

Jon’s eyes made a quick scan of the room. It _is_ possible that his boss was there and he’d just not noticed. He tends to focus solely on Sansa, so he may have missed him sat in a corner or something.

“Where’s Mance?” he asks once he realises that no, he’d not been blinded by Sansa’s presence, the old man just wasn’t there.

Sansa shrugged as she carried on dancing to the song. “He said something about food for Ramsey.”

“What?!” Jon’s blood ran cold. “He’s not meant to go to him alone,” he said, already rushing out of the door, only vaguely aware that Sansa had stopped singing and dancing and was following him. He should turn around and tell her not to – both Mance and Jon had decided that they were to deal with Creepy Fucker. Sansa can stay well away from him. But the panic he tastes at the back of his throat stops the words from coming out whilst he sprints towards Ramsey’s room.  _No one should be alone with this guy. That’s what we agreed._

Jon’s breath stuck in his throat as they round the corner and find Ramsey’s room with the door wide open. _Shit! Shit! Shit!_ He races forward, skidding over the threshold of the storeroom that was Creepy Fucker’s prison cell. The room was barren, the walls exposed brick, the floor bare concrete with only a makeshift mattress of sacking material and blankets and a stack of books. To Jon’s horror, Ramsey was not there, but Mance was. Sansa caught up with him then, a gasp leaving her sweet lips as she stared at the scene before them.

Mance lay curled up on his side, surrounded by a tray now devoid of food, the cutlery and smashed plate littered all around him along with splattered mashed potatoes and tinned meat. The whole arrangement enveloped in a pool of sticky burgundy blood. Jon eyes homed in on the knife still embedded in the side of Mance’s neck – the knife that Ramsey had been asking about on that day at the store.

“Oh my God!” Sansa sobbed beside him, making him release his breath in a shuddering whoosh. He’d almost forgotten she was even there. Jon wasted no time in pulling her to him, wrapping his arms around her frame, encircling her as if to shield her from the scene. _That sick fuck. I’m going to kill him._

But first they needed to find him.

Squeezing Sansa a little as she buried her face into the skin of his chest, Jon pressed a kiss to her head. “Come on,” he murmured, his nose still breathing in her hair, “we have to find him.”

Mance once pulled Jon aside, privately telling him of where he had a few guns stashed. One of them was in the kitchenette – hidden high above one of the cupboards, right at the back. Jon grabbed Sansa’s hand and lead them that way.

He tugged her along, feeling as urgent as he had done that day when they’d raced across the clearing to get to Mance and the safety of his bunker. His breathing felt shallow, his heartbeat erratic. _He wants to hurt her. I know he does. I won’t let him._

As they neared the living quarters they could hear the beginning notes of 9-5 starting up again as Samwell’s message started it’s loop once more. Somehow, what had been a light, happy sounding song seemed so at odds with how he was feeling just now, that Jon found it almost menacing.

He pulled Sansa along with him, stopping in the centre of the room as his eyes landed on the door to Mance’s bedroom – Mance’s _lockable_ bedroom.

 “Get in Mance’s room!” Jon bellowed over the song.

“What?”

“Get in there and lock the door behind you! You’ll be safe! Go on-“

“But-“

“Sansa! Go!” He whirled her around but found he was unable to break free of his grip on her hand. In a moment of pure reflex and _need_ , Jon yanked her back into him. She crashed into his chest and he grabbed her face with both hands, bringing his lips to hers as his eyes screwed shut. If this is all he’ll get of her then _fine._ But if he’s to die today by Ramsey’s hand then at least he’ll know. He’ll know what it’s like to kiss Sansa Stark.

There’s a surprised squeak that comes from her lips but that and almost everything else melts away as she groans into the kiss and winds her arms around his middle, clinging onto him. He’s the first to break away, keeping his eyes closed and his forehead pressed to hers. _I have to keep you safe._

“Under Mance’s bedside cabinet,” he breaths, slowing opening his eyes to find hers already trained on him, glassy and full of worry.

“What?” she whispers.

“Under Mance’s bedside cabinet. He’s taped a gun there.” They’re both breathing heavy now and Jon’s not sure if it’s from the adrenaline or the kiss. “Go in his room, get the gun and wait for me to find Ramsey.”

“What are you going to do when you find him?”

Jon feels himself tense as he tells her plainly, “I’m going to kill him.”

Her summer sky eyes turn steely as she gives him the minutest of nods.

“Go,” Jon whispers before Sansa leans up and presses her mouth to his again. And then she’s gone from his arms, rushing into Mance’s bedroom. “Lock the door!” he calls out and listens for the click over the song still playing in the background and his heart thudding against his ribs.

He’s about to move one of the dining chairs over to the kitchenette, so as to climb on top and retrieve the gun when he hears Sansa shriek through the door and then _nothing._ “Sansa?” he calls out.

_Nothing._

“Sansa? Are you ok?”

_Nothing._

Jon puts the chair back down and goes over to the door. “Sansa? What was that noise? Can you let me in?”

“Sansa can’t come to the door right now, Jon,” came the eerily calm voice of Ramsey from the other side of the door, “she’s going to be a bit busy.”

**Author's Note:**

> If you're looking for answers to what's actually happening (is it an attack? is it a natural disaster?) STOP because you won't be getting any! I just thought I'd warn you now so as not to have a few disappointed people when THAT part of the story remains ambiguous. 
> 
> Anyway....I really hope that you enjoyed it so far!!


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